Grief
by mizzshy
Summary: Everyone grieves at some point in their lives, but what do hosts grieve about exactly? Random oneshot. T for safety.


**Ouran Fanfiction**

**Grief**

No one in the third music room was expecting this.

_How_ could they possibly expect this?

They cannot move; all of them are frozen in place, a grim tableaux of terror and sorrow.

The shock reverberates around the room. It is so tangible that it can almost be seen; a thick, poisonous cloud, infecting everything in its path, being inhaled by the hosts, sending their minds reeling, rendering their motor and sensory neurones useless.

Each host reacts in their own way, but grief is written on every face.

Mori, for instance, is slumped on a small couch, his tall frame, usually so strong and imperious-looking, appears to have folded in on itself. He looks smaller, weaker and he is shaking and trembling, terrified. His face is unreadable, and as always he is saying nothing to betray his own feelings, but his body language screams louder than he ever could. His skin has lost all colour and is beginning to look a little green, though he shouldn't be like this. He is the strong one, the wild type, the toughest of them all. But all that has changed in one single incident. His face is turned to the centre of the room, and his arms- his strong, muscled arms which now look so weak- are around the small form of Hunny, whose face is buried in Mori's shoulder. Another wail cracks the air and Hunny clutches tighter to his tall cousin and friend. Tears stain Mori's clothes and the blazer is going to have to be dry-cleaned later, but no one notices or cares. That sort of detail is considered trivial when something like this has occurred.

Unlike Mori, Hunny is cowering from the sight in the middle of the third music room. If Mori looks small, Hunny is _tiny_, and he is bawling. Ordinarily, this would attract a lot of concern, but now everyone is too shocked and scared to notice, or they wouldn't notice, if they could hear anything. He is curled up underneath himself on the couch and is making the loudest noise in the room. Some of his blond hair sticks to his face with the tears, and Usa-chan is clutched tightly to his chest, the bunny toy appearing to have deflated with the sorrow tingling around the room. Hunny draws more breath for a cry and his body shudders painfully with the deep sadness he feels. _How could this-? When was-? Who did-? Why?_ These questions flood his mind, along with everyone else's. Unanswered.

Kyouya, by contrast, makes no sound; _no, he'd never cry_, but the evidence of grief is there. He is leaning against the wall- almost casually- and an onlooker would glance at him and think that he looked exactly the same as usual. But then something would force the onlooker's eyes back towards him, and they would see that there was something- _something_- so strangely different about him that it is alarming. Perhaps it is the hair, normally so neat, like him, that is currently standing on end; his hands have run through it countless times since the discovery of this... this... _thing_. This dreadful, scary, horrific thing... Maybe it is the wide staring eyes, although this is not possible, as his dark eyes are hidden by the reflections in his glasses. But whatever it is, something has shifted in his demeanour, something unspoken but real, and now he seems vulnerable-completely and utterly- and there is no trace of the Shadow King in him now.

Kaoru is weeping, but quietly. No loud sounds from this host. No. Just silent tears and a fear in his chest. He and his brother, his twin, his other half, have collapsed on the floor, their arms around each other, attempting to share strength between them, but their efforts are fruitless. Neither has any strength; they are both helpless. Kaoru wonders, if his twin is half himself, how can he suddenly feel that part of him is not here? The other half is here; it is cradled in his arms. The other half is here, so... Where is the rest of Kaoru? He holds Hikaru closer, the steady stream on his face dripping onto his uniform. His face is pale, his eyes will be bloodshot later, and his heart is heavy. Every beat of the muscle makes him feel faint, and if it weren't for Hikaru here, he'd probably have lost consciousness by now. And he cannot tear his eyes from it, that horrible, horrible thing at the heart of them all.

Hikaru grieves in a completely different way. Not quiet like Kaoru and Kyouya, oh no. Not nearly as sorrowful. But loud. And angry. Angry and afraid and upset. He breathes heavily between crying. Sometimes he mutters incoherently, and occasionally he shouts _very_ coherently. But, like Hunny's cries, no one hears him. The shock cloud has dimmed everyone's senses, and even if they could hear him, they wouldn't want to. His hair is stained with some of Kaoru's tears, the moisture matting parts of it so that he appears to have just had a shower. His face is not pale at all; the rage has made it flushed and red, almost purple from all the shouting and crying out. _This can't have-! There must be some-! WHY?!_ He punches the floor hard and shouts again, raising the volume of it so that is echoes off the high ceiling of the third music room. Still, no one says a word.

Tamaki's reaction is also unique. He kneels beside it, head dropped to his chest so that he faces the floor, shiny blonde hair obscuring his face. Broken-looking. His eyes, so deep and violet and beautiful usually, are bloodshot and his face has unattractive lines down it where the tears have coursed. His back is bent, hunched, and this would normally be seen as bad posture by the host club king, but now is not the time for such trivialities. Red has seeped onto his uniform, his blazer and trousers, and it will be so hard to get it out later, but what does it really matter now anyway? It is painful to even watch this poor sad person, let alone listen to him. The sounds that emerge from him are not wails like Hunny or shouts and cries like Hikaru.

They are sobs.

Painful sobs.

Real sobs.

Heartbroken sobs.

He grips Haruhi's hand in his, and he feels so cold, even though the blood is warm. Grief overpowers him, making him lose control entirely. He rocks gently as he sobs more, the realisation of what has occurred coming over him again and again in waves.

Haruhi lies in the middle of the floor on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling with her big, clear, brown eyes. Her hair is matted, but not from tears, from a different substance altogether. Funny, blood is supposed to give life, yet it is always associated with death. No one ponders this though. There will be time for pondering later on. Right now, everyone wants to grieve. Except Haruhi.

She has no desire to grieve.

No desire for anything at all.

She does not move.

She does not blink.

She does not even breathe.

She lies in a pool of blood, an empty shell.

She is dead.


End file.
